


The Winter of Our Discontent

by Myrtilla



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Desperation Play, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrtilla/pseuds/Myrtilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1712 AD</p><p>"Not many were so beautiful..." </p><p>The ninth month of Hal's imprisonment by the Hungarian monks. How much would he be willing to sacrifice to escape?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winter of Our Discontent

**Author's Note:**

> I felt the need to write something wicked and this sort of just came out of the void. I'm so, so sorry

  
The light of a sole candle illuminated the creature on the bed, the same color tone as expensive writing material rapidly becoming preferable to parchment.  Its pale skin seemed to glow, producing light of its own from the devil’s fire within. The face now blocked from view appeared only a few brief years older than his own although he knew it to have lived in some way over two centuries.

_A cat has one of the most unpleasant hunting styles of all animals. After catching prey like mice the hunter will maul its food, throw the body into the air before setting it down and withdrawing. The bleeding, oblivious mouse believes it has found a chance to escape and will attempt to crawl away. However it will not make much distance before the clawed paw knocks it to the ground only to repeat the tortuous process until the mouse is too weak to stand. Only then will the cat remove its head._

_But now the positions had been reversed; a cat was now the prisoner of a mouse, the combined force achieving what one could not alone..._

He gripped the crucifix about his neck before undoing the heavy latch on the cell door; while every wall and the back of the door had been hung with the savior’s image  the Father Abbot’s words of warning echoed in his mind.

“ _The Devil is as cunning as he is cruel. The creatures formed in his image are no less”_

The young monk approached the sleeping vampire. His wooden shoes made an audible noise on the stone floor and the creature stirred.

It had fashioned a blindfold of his shirt, one arm drawn across its face as if in relaxation and not the manacle securing it the wall.  When it was first imprisoned it had been necessary to bind both its hands and feet although still it had fought. As time passed all but of the manacles had been removed to make it easier to clean and feed. Such small gestures of kindness were needed in  order to make the demon confess its sins.

The cell was longer than it was wide, barely the length of two men and one arm span wide. In order to reach the door one must pass half a dozen crosses on the walls, and a crucifix the size of an infant mounted on the door. He had been told the mere sight of the holy artefacts caused the demon’s blood to burn like the red hot of melting iron back in his father’s forge.  _A lifetime ago…_

The vampire had sacrificed his torso in order to shield his eyes. He watched the sunken muscles tighten in its stomach as it shifted to sit and relieve some of the pain in the arm. 

“Good morning brother,” the voice rasped with a trace of underlying silk. “Or perhaps evening? It becomes harder to tell without a window.”

He ignored the words and placed the pail of water on the ground before carefully filling the ladle once with water. The creature accepted the water, tongue caressing the groves bitten in its lips. 

“ This confinement is only a mild taste of  the eternal torment which awaits you after this life. Will you confess your sins?”

“Even as an infant the church refused to accept me; my birth was a crime and my existence an insult,” the vampire answered. “I have nothing to confess.”

The response had not changed in over five months.

For the first three months of confinement it had screamed, blasphemed and threated only to beg by the holy trinity for mercy or even death. As the vampire became more desperate for blood it began to bite its lips and tear veins in its own arms, sucking at the small cuts for the few minutes before the natural healing mended the skin.

Nine months without blood and irregular small rations of food and water had robbed it of much of its strength; the lean muscles achieved from past labor had been swallowed into the now slight frame through misuse and in order to sustain the starving body.

It was still unknown how long one of the demons could survive without drinking its damming liquid. The monks knew more of the vampire legends then many of the demons did. The sustained life and absence of ageing was fed by the pact their sires wrote with the devil; immortality in exchange for blood.  Their chosen elixir insured their bodies went untroubled with age although not many were preserved in  the flush  of youth, as this once man had been. The curse that the vampires considered a gift was not one they granted likely, it was offered to those who showed intelligence, the kind rarely acquired without age and experience, and the premeditated ability for murder. In rare cases it was gifted to dying souls in what may be confused with acts of mercy. 

_Not many were so beautiful..._

The  monk dipped a cloth into the pail, wringing out the drops before approaching the creature’s head again. He paused momentarily before gently wiping the sweaty brow. He knew the creature was wise enough to know that if he was harmed in any way the other monks would leave the room locked, leaving it to starve or just remain.

Still the young man feared it as he would an injured, caged animal, and the fangs which could unfurl at any moment, sinking into the exposed vein of his wrist.  

He removed the filthy shirt, tearing the sleeve closest to the manacle, forcing it to close its eyes against the crosses.  He rinsed the cloth and began to clean its chest.

The creature tensed at the unwanted touch but did not struggle. The pleasure at being cleaned overpowered other instincts.  

Like his own the skin was relatively free from hair, smooth like gossamer material under the layer of grime. The gentle motions enticed a soft moan from his captive.

With the creature’s eyes closed the monk studied it with silent curiosity, thoughts and emotions drifting across his mind which  unsettled him far more and entirely differently from his fear.

As his hands passed over the slack nipples he wondered whether he could make the creature produce another sound.

He was glad no one else was present to see the shameful blush reaching his freckled cheeks. He would have to offer penance for such thoughts.

His hands shook as he slid the tatted trousers down to the vampire’s ankles. He placed the chamber pot on its stomach, allowing one task to be completed with dignity.

After the brief trickle had stopped (further proof of the condition its body was reduced to) , he took back the pot and placed it on the floor.

The water was filthy but the young man did not want to stop. He paused on the creature’s thigh, letting one finger caress the creamy skin. He banished the offending thoughts and replaced the creature’s clothing.

“I imagine your vow of celibacy from women was not as difficult for you as for some.”

He looked up at the mocking voice and flinched when the dark eyes met his.

He retreated backwards to keep more of the crosses in the vampire’s line of sight. Although its face strained with pain it didn’t close its eyes, the intense gaze and slight smile both frightening and arousing.

 “Your god isn’t watching you right now, brother. Take off that cross.”

The words were spoken in barely  more than a whisper but a command none the less.

_I should leave. I should back away, bolt the door and leave it..._

As his hands lifted to the cord around his neck he felt as if another was guiding the limbs. He placed the cross on the stone floor.

“God never seemed to like men like me,” the monster mused.  The one free hand traced over its naked torso, a pale finger drawing unclear marks on his almost translucent skin. 

“You are not a man,” the monk murmured.

He gasped as he fell forward onto the narrow bed. He bit his lip wishing he could withdraw the foolish words.

The creature unfurled its fingers from the monk’s habit. His face pressed against the others chest, he didn’t dare move. His own heart hammered painfully in terror but the heart beneath his cheek was silent.

“Look at me.”

 “No…” he shook his head.

He heard a soft chuckle in response and felt a gentle kiss to his head. The motion was chaste, as his mother would once have done but the hairs of the vampire’s beard grazing his bald head was new in a very intriguing way.

“What are-?”

“Shhhh…”

He gasped again as he felt a gentle caress to his fleshy thigh and looked down. The tattered brown habit had been raised to his waist revealing his freckled legs and the organ between them. 

He shivered as the deft fingers began stroking his prick, the already disturbed shaft beginning to harden.

His breathing increased and the others legs wrapped around him to prevent movement. It stroked him carefully till his prick was painfully firm.

“Please,” He begged, voice husky and sweat dripping down his brow.

“Now, look at me,” the command repeated.

The hold around him loosened enough for him to adjust lift his head. The vampire crushed his mouth against his, tongue gently opening the other’s mouth and deepening the kiss.  

He moaned with undisguised pleasure , shifting his body into the touch as a damp warmth spread down the inside of his thighs.

With a strangled gasp he laid his head back on the other’s chest, it’s even breathing cool on his neck.

................................

Hal grinned in triumph at the throat now within his reach. He gently tipped the head back and dug his teeth into the exposed vein, caging his prey as it struggled weakly with his legs.

The beautiful fatty blood ran into his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He paused to lick up the escaping drops, wasting nothing.

Hal didn’t stop drinking until long after the body stopped moving. 

In order to escape he would have to endure some pain but with his strength and healing already renewing the ailment would be short lived.

Hal took hold of his left thumb and bent it inwards in a swift, hard motion breaking the bone. He grunted as he eased his hand free from the manacle. The bone would be naturally repaired most likely within hours.

Months of patience and humiliation, letting himself grow weak and vulnerable had achieved this. He heaved the deadweight monk onto his shoulders positioned so they were back to back, the monk’s body draped over his own as a flesh shield. 

Hal walked at a painfully slow pace, stooped like a cripple to hold up the other man. In his weakened state it took almost a quarter of an hour to reach the corridor, a distance barely ten feet.

The monk’s habit was dirty and tattered but it would be unwise to leave in just his slacks.

_A useful disguise too. Even an abbey of nuns would extend trust and hospitality to a travelling monk. A delicious though..._

The dead monk splayed across the threshold, glassy eyes fixed frozen on a point above but seeing nothing; the clear substance beginning to dry.   


End file.
